The Date
by TheDarkCorner371
Summary: He had been told that the world was full of women and men that would gladly ignore even the most atrocious crimes in favour of being showered with gifts (...). After years, he'd come to the conclusion that the world might very well be full of that kind of people, but he must have been particularly unlucky. That generally left him with Plan B.


Disclaimer: DB is not mine.

Warning for suggestive themes.

 **The Date**

"… and therefore, we hereby declare Mr Furiza Kold Best Businessman of the year."

The crowd applauded politely as a 30 something auburn-haired man first looked surprised and then smiled a wide, honest smile, gracefully rising from his seat and walking to the podium to collect his prize from the gleeful presenter. He bashfully took the offered microphone and gave a brief but heartfelt speech on the importance of sustainable business, of properly valuing employees, of creating the right balance between work and home life, of the role women had to play in companies and of how a better way of doing business would mean a better world. The applause that followed his speech was louder and framed by the flashes of cameras. In the following hours, he charmed the journalists, made a number of donations to renown charities, had a few talks with fellow businesspeople who wanted to be part of his success story and finally collapsed on the lavish sofa of his penthouse, still holding onto the garish gold prize. It had been a good night. Observing once again the awful-looking but so incredibly influential object in his hand, he slowly let go of the honest smile to replace it with the cold grin he would be sporting most of the time, had he not realised it was much more profitable to appear trustworthy.

The expensive regent gold clock on his table ticked 1am but, with adrenalin and gleeful triumph still running through his veins, he did not feel tired at all; he wanted to party, possibly with someone with whom his mask of respectability was not required. He nonchalantly grabbed his mobile and ticked away at the luminous screen, trying to fool himself into believing he was searching for a number that he knew by heart. He had been told that the world was full of women and men that would gladly ignore even the most atrocious crimes in favour of being showered with gifts; women and men who could be persuaded into providing the shadow of a relationship when needed, only to silently disappear when it was not necessary anymore. After years, he'd come to the conclusion that the world might very well be full of that kind of people, but he must have been particularly unlucky. That generally left him with Plan B.

He clicked on the green telephone icon to initiate the call and impatiently waited for the other to pick up, glancing at the clock. It was not _that_ late… Finally, a low voice murmured a casual "Hello?" Furiza felt himself relax and smiled. "Hello lovely", he breathed in a flirty tone, "Are you free tonight?" The other speaker paused, before blurting out a noncommittal "Someone is in a good mood. Anyway, I actually…"

"Ditch them", Furiza cut him out, his impatience surfacing again. "They are hardly worth your time. I'll be seeing you in 20. The penthouse." He hung up without waiting for a confirmation and happily went to select his most expensive wine and snacks. 25 minutes later, he was distracted from admiring the rain batting on the window by a soft knock on the front door; he wrenched it open, schooling his features in a disapproving frown, and greeted the newcomer with a: "You are late." The young man, arm still raised in the act of knocking, fixed a serious stare on him, shook his slightly damp dark hair and carefully cleaned his polished shoes on the mat. "I was on the other side of the city", he explained, not even flinching when he was grabbed and dragged inside. Furiza hurriedly divested him of his coat and pushed him in the direction of the sofa, vaguely pointing at the wine and artistically arranged snacks as he briefly disappeared to hang the garment. Back a second later, he hid a smile as he caught the other carefully observing the prize, placed in a rather obvious position at the centre of the small coffee table. The man turned to look at him, holding the glass of wine in a relaxed gesture: "This is the reason for your obvious gleefulness, I take it?", he wondered aloud, taking a seat. Furiza's features lit in a full-blown smirk, as he also grabbed a drink and went to sit near his guest, clinking their glasses together. The other gave him a faintly amused grin. "I would not smile like that in front of the cameras, it might blow your cover", he joked lightly. Furiza ignored the remark in favour of gently playing with the hem of the young man's shirt. "I hope the lady was not too disappointed to see you go?", he finally murmured coyly, giving him a hard stare. The man merely raised a questioning eyebrow: "Lady?"

"You have a stain of lipstick." The collar of his shirt, sporting a faint dark red outline, was raised in demonstration. The other smiled, as relaxed as ever. "How do you know it is a lady's?", he softly countered. Furiza blinked, intrigued. "A man's?", he inquired, slithering closer to the other, who went on smiling, his expression giving away nothing. If there was one thing he was always vigilant on, it was guaranteeing his customers' privacy. He allowed his lips to be traced by a cold finger, as the businessman gave him a hungry stare. "Have you ever worn make up, Vegeta?" He almost laughed at the obvious question, preferring instead to lean in and whisper: "Why? Have you got any?"

He was not at all surprised when he was grabbed roughly and had enough sense to put his glass back on the coffee table before being forced to lie on the sofa and kissed violently. 10 minutes later, he was still lying comfortably, shirt completely unmade, calmly looking up at the other, as he caressed his naked skin while sitting on his hips. "Was that lipstick yours?", Furiza asked, apparently unwilling to leave the subject alone. Vegeta raised his arms and crossed them under his head. "Maybe", he offered. A minute of silence followed. "You could be a doll", Furiza suddenly decided. "I could dress you up in a beautiful gown, cover you in lace and make up and put you away." Vegeta made a mock-offended face. "Doll? I thought I was an enslaved Prince?", he whined, referring to one of Furiza's favourite fantasies; he was actually pretty fond of the tight battlesuit that went with it. However, the businessman stubbornly shook his head. "No, you are a doll now. I will get you a lavish wardrobe, so that you can wear something new every day, and have a beautiful box made for you to rest in when I am not playing with you. I'll be sure to make it comfortable and lock it very well, to avoid you escaping." Vegeta kept smiling as he was pressed in the sofa and once again kissed, all the while stomping on the unease he was feeling. Furiza was one of his most… intense customers, if not the strangest, and he always tried to be careful with that peculiar group of people. Playing with them was always rewarding, in more ways than one, but potentially very dangerous for his health. Furiza, in particular, considered his fantasies very serious business. The last time he decided the "prince" deserved to be reminded of his place, it'd taken a while to persuade him to unchain him; and now this whole "doll" thing… Still, most times it was _really_ good fun.

"Fine", he breathed later, still plastered on the sofa and wearing way less clothes than before. "I shall be your doll, but can I still be a prince for tonight?"

 **Thank you for reading, let me know if you like it!**


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